


Tightly Bound

by Cheloya



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-27 07:06:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10804233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheloya/pseuds/Cheloya
Summary: Old, imported. The tying of the memorial ribbon.





	Tightly Bound

Vincent is beginning to wear on her nerves. It isn't like she has anything like Aeris' patience - or even Tifa's, though she's pretty sure she beats Barret and Cid by a long shot. As it is, she's getting dangerously close to the point where she's ready to tie the damn thing around his neck and hang him from a tree. Or maybe just tie it in a hard-to-reach portion of his unruly hair.

If he needs her help to tie the damn thing, then he can't _untie_ it by himself, either - although she wouldn't put it past Vincent to hack a big fat chunk of his hair right off if she tied it where he knew he _didn't_ want it.

"You do _want_ to wear it, right?" She demands at last. "If you're only doing this to placate ol' Chocobo-head, then speak up!"

A sigh. "I do want to wear it, Yuffie. I do not want to forget the sacrifice she made. However, I doubt she would appreciate my remembrance of her actions to nullify their effects."

"Well, _think_ , then. I still think it'd be fine in your hair. Mukki wears ribbons these days, y'know, it's very--"

She knows he'd never hurt her, exactly, but with the looks he sometimes shoots her, it'd be an easy mistake to make.

"...you're gonna die with hair in your eyes, monster man," she huffs out with a greatly exaggerated sigh. Vincent snorts.

"Yes," he agrees. "Yours." And he runs the fingers of his good hand lightly through the longer strands at the nape of her neck. She is unable to suppress a shiver. She hates it when he does that; she can never bring herself to yell at him, afterwards. Part of her thinks that never finishing an argument is a poor trade for these gentle caresses; the rest of her is pretty sure neither of them ever care about the squabble's topic, anyway.

Mostly. Aeris is different.

"You'd better make a decision, monster man," she warns lightly, "or I'm tying it somewhere you won't like."

Vincent's hand scrunches through her hair again. He sounds as though he's smirking when he replies, "You wouldn't like it, either."

His tone is markedly more serious when he continues, "She was our trump card, our right hand. She lent us strength, and hope."

Yuffie's hands travel slowly up his right arm, coming to rest near his elbow. She's sure he was referring to his shoulder, or at least somewhere near his bicep, but the left forearm has always marked the end of Vincent's hopes - she thinks the right should put a firm halt to his nightmares.

No one sees his biceps but her, anyway, and she wants the world to know that Vincent Valentine does not grieve for only one woman, does not think about only one woman, and never will again - he's not that selfish any more, and neither is she.

She ties the ribbon, pretty and pink, just above the end of his glove.

"Every morning," she tells him, and leans forward to cup his face. "No matter how much we all want to forget. It's just not done. I want you to be wearing this a thousand years from now." She stares at him from inches away, and beholds a sadness, and a glow, that she knows is unlike any other.

"This ribbon," he promises her softly. "And a wedding ring."


End file.
